


Wake Up New

by helencopter



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Demon Dean Winchester, Dubious Consent Due To Identity Issues, Emotional Manipulation, Frottage, Identity Issues, Introspective Sex Scenes, M/M, Not Season 10 compliant, Oral Sex, Topping from the Bottom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-18
Updated: 2014-10-18
Packaged: 2018-02-21 15:23:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2473061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helencopter/pseuds/helencopter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the aftermath of the season 9 finale, Demon!Dean pays a visit to Cas to gloat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wake Up New

“Cas.”

The angel shifts in his sleep, breath stuttering out from his slightly open mouth, a troubled crease forming between his eyebrows. He dreams of being pressed to death by stones, one by one. Green eyes stare down at him as each stone is placed. It is a punishment. God is angry.

“Caaas.” Sing-song, warm air blowing in his ear, scrape of stubble along his jaw. “Wake up Cas. You’re going to want to see this.”

Blue eyes slit open in the darkened room to take in the blurring lines of a strong jaw looming just above, familiar green eyes peering curiously down at him. “There’s my boy,” Dean Winchester’s voice chuckles.

Cas comes awake like a drowning man coming up for air. He jerks up, but strong hands come down to grip his wrists, pinning him easily to the bed. “Dean?” Cas croaks out, sleep-roughened voice rasping. He’s still half-asleep, dazed. Through the waves of confused relief that crash over him as he stares up into that familiar face, something dark and repressed at the back of his mind is screaming _wrong, wrong, WRONG._ “But you’re...”

“Dead?” The face above his grins from ear to ear. “Didn’t stick.” And then, like something from the angel’s worst nightmares, green eyes blink and open black.

Castiel grunts, the noise guttural, pained. “Dean,” he says, the word so quiet it is almost a breath, and his eyes slip closed. His head falls back on the pillow, baring his throat to the demon straddling his hips. The seconds tick by but there is no sound but his own ragged breathing, no sensation but the weight on his chest.  

Castiel opens his eyes.                                                                                                                                                         

The demon sitting above him smirks, stretching his friend’s face into something cruel. “Well hey there, Cas,” he drawls, the voice gentle, somehow all the more nasty for it. He takes his hands off the angel’s wrists, running the knuckles of his right hand gently down Castiel’s cheek, along the line of his jaw. And now the memories are pushing through the rapidly dissipating fog of sleep, like Dean’s hand is pulling down a zipper and letting the pain spill out.

Castiel makes another strangled noise, and then whispers, “Sam called, he asked me to – he couldn’t bear to burn his bo- the body alone.” His voice trembles slightly, and though he talks loud enough to be heard, his eyes are fixed on the ceiling, like he is not speaking to anyone present. Like he is praying.

“ _His_ body?” the demon asks, voice rumbling with amusement. “You mean this body? My body? ” He shifts his weight, bringing his face so close to that of the man below him that Cas has no choice but to look up into green eyes.

Dean’s form is a weight on him, solid and immutable. Castiel’s arms are free but he can no more move than if he were a butterfly pinned to cardstock. The demon wearing his friend’s skin is grinning knowingly now, pressing his chest down to Castiel’s. “Well that would just be a waste, now wouldn’t it?” he purrs, “not when I can think of so many more... interesting things to do with it.”

He drapes an arm languidly up past Cas’s shoulder, runs fingers idly through the angel’s hair. Castiel exhales sharply, his eyes falling closed once more, and he can feel the demon’s laughter vibrate along his chest. “Still pretending this isn’t happening, huh, Cas? You always were good at burying your head in the sand.”

The fingers in his hair close down in a first, sharp and sudden, yanking his head to the side. That is all the warning Castiel gets before a hot open mouth is pressed to his neck, a tongue darting out against the exposed tendon, dipping down into the hollow of his throat.

The angel’s breathing is growing shallower, but his eyes remain closed, his body immobile. Until, that is, he feels a series of vicious bites along the cool line that Dean’s mouth has left along his throat. The moan that forces its way out of Castiel’s mouth startles them both almost as much as the sudden jerk of the angel’s hips. The mouth at his throat pauses, and then Dean’s body is shaking with laughter again, the sound clear and delighted. “Oh Cas,” he says affectionately, “What are we going to do with you?”

Castiel opens his eyes, and Dean Winchester’s face is framed in the light above him, quirked lips pink and wet from his own saliva laved along the angel’s neck. Castiel draws his gaze way from Dean’s mouth with a shudder, only to find himself meeting black eyes instead.

The look on the hunter’s face is intent, predatory, like he hasn’t quite decided in what sense he’s going to devour the body before him. But the second Cas meets his gaze, the demon’s whole demeanor changes. Black eyes blink away green, and the face looking down is friendly once more, playful even. Dean Winchester’s body cocks its head, and the grin that stretches that still wet mouth is just this side of cheesy.

“Say Cas...” Dea-the demon says, and God help him, even the _voice_ is right, familiar, like the start of a hundred bad ideas that he’d go along with just to stay in orbit around wry smiles and baffled affection and the feeling that whatever else, he’s trying to do the right thing. He’s not quite sure how well that applies now, though, as calloused fingers splay on his bare chest and then begin to play down along his side, down into the grooves of his hip bone, then slide further down and – Castiel grunts, thrusting involuntarily into the hand ever so gently cupping the erection tenting his thin pyjama bottoms. Dean chuckles warmly. “As long as we’re pretending, why don’t we play The Righteous Man and the Angel, huh? For old time’s sake.”

It’s like a switch has been flipped.

Cas bucks his hips up in one wild jerk. The demon, not expecting it, goes flying forwards and is forced up on his hands and knees, hands pressed into the bed on either side of Castiel’s face. In one smooth movement Cas has his hands around the demon’s wrists and is forcing them further up, letting the demon fall onto him and then using the momentum to flip Dean on his back. It is simple, the demon not fighting the motion in the slightest, and then it is the angel who is scrabbling up to straddle Dean Winchester’s body, raking his face with blown pupils almost as dark as the eyes they meet beneath them.

Castiel smashes his face to Dean’s, meeting his lips with no skill, no finesse, nothing but pure devouring need. It is anyone’s guess which of them lets out the ragged moan, but when Cas forces his tongue into the demon’s mouth, it is already hot and open for him.

And then it’s easy.

Time is lost in the slide of tongues against one another, the angel’s frantic panting breaths. Castiel’s keeps Dean’s wrists pinned above his head, gripping them hard enough to bruise, but Dean shows no sign of wanting to escape. He responds to Cas’s eager mouth languidly, letting the angel take what he wants.

When Cas breaks away to suck a trail down Dean’s throat, he can feel the laughter shaking the body beneath his. The angel growls, the gentle glide of his mouth going sharp with teeth. Dean’s laugh stutters off into a ragged breath, his back lifting off the bed. “ _Fuck,_ Cas,” he gasps out, eyes fluttering shut. Castiel’s eyes trace the taut arch of Dean’s body hungrily, and then the hunter is chuckling again. “Knew you had it in you, Cas,” Dean murmurs, voice breathless, “been waiting for this since you told me you’d throw me back in hell, remember? Bet you were just _aching_ to put me in my place.”

Cas freezes, eyelids dropping shut under the sudden onslaught of memory which – _no,_ he can’t let that happen, can’t think of what he saved Dean from becoming all those many years ago and what he didn’t, he couldn’t – it’s all too much.

Cas exhales sharply and releases the hunter’s wrists so he can roughly ruck up the front of Dean’s t-shirt, not bothering to remove the plaid shirt Dean has on over it, chasing the feeling of forgetting in the newly revealed expanse of skin.

The angel bends his head down to Dean’s stomach, one hand raking across Dean’s ribs and then sliding up to pinch viciously at the hunter’s nipple. The noise that Dean makes could almost be called a yowl if it weren’t for the low breathless quality to it. His newly released hands jerk up from where they were above his head, whether to push Cas away or pull him closer uncertain as the angel’s eyes dart up and fix on Dean’s. “Don’t. Move,” Cas rasps severely, punctuating each word with a sharp bite to Dean’s hip bone.

The hunter’s hands spasm, then fall back on the bed with obvious effort, his hips jumping in time to Cas’s bites, chasing further sensation.

Castiel shoots Dean a challenging look as he reaches up and wraps a firm hand around the hunter’s wrist, forcing one of his hands and then the other up to grip at the railing of the headboard. “If you let go, I’ll stop,” Castiel warns with a growl, not even certain which of them he’s trying to convince.

Dean tilts his head to the side cockily, “Will you now?” he asks, the last word cut off with a strangled moan as Castiel applies another warning bite to his hip. Dean’s knuckles whiten as he grips the railing tighter, but when Cas glances up, the look on his face is a small, darkly satisfied smile.

Cas catches Dean’s eyes despite himself, and the smile on Dean’s face slowly falls away. The hunter tilts his head thoughtfully, expression almost solemn as he rakes his eyes over the angel’s face, takes in the picture in front of him. Cas’s fists are clenched into the sheet’s on either side of Dean’s hips. His own hips are lifted carefully away from the hunter’s body, weight supported mainly on the thick thighs that bracket Dean’s as if Castiel is trying not to betray his nevertheless obvious arousal. When Dean glances back up at Castiel’s face, the angel’s eyes are lust-blown and wild.

“Cas,” Dean says, and it’s a taunt, it _should_ be a taunt, Cas knows, but all he can hear in the hunter’s voice is curiosity and something a little like awe, something quietly reverent, and he can’t tell anymore if he’s being played or just hearing what he wants so desperately to be there. Those are the only two options, he knows, and hates himself for not quite caring.

The angel’s eyes fall closed of their own accord and his forehead falls to Dean’s hip, his whole body shuddering. “Cas?” Dean repeats gently.

“Don’t,” Cas says helplessly against Dean’s skin.

“All these rules, Cas,” Dean says, voice husky and affectionate, “Now tell me something. Are they to make sure I remember my place, or so that _you_ don’t forget?”

“Shut _up_ ,” Castiel growls, but despite his severe tone, he shifts his weight so that all that Dean can see of his face is the curve of his ears and the crest of his tangled bedhead, hiding from Dean’s sight. His hair tickles the hunter’s stomach.

Cas’s nose is just scant inches away from rubbing along the bulge in Dean’s jeans, and the hunter shifts his hips in a hint, letting out a needy, frustrated moan when Cas follows the movement to shift his head away from the contact he desires.

“Come on Cas,” Dean says, panting slightly through kiss-swollen lips, “You have me right where you want me. I won’t move my hands, I promise, I’ll do what you say, but I need you to touch me. _Please,_ Cas just touch me. I’ll be so good, just touch me.” He squirms, body needy beneath the angel’s, but his hands stay locked around the railing as if he’s trying to prove to Cas just how obedient he can be.

There’s something exquisite about the hot stab of emotion that embeds itself in Cas’s gut at it all, a desperate mix of grief and guilt and lust balanced on a knife edge and threatening to cut as he drinks down the bitter potion of everything he wants laid out in front of him so wrong, wrong, _wrong._

But the angel doesn’t care anymore, can barely even register it over the overpowering need, and when Dean lets out another whining request for friction, Castiel complies, reaching out, intent on the top button of Dean’s jeans. His hands shake ever so slightly as he works it open. He doesn’t bother with the zipper, only shifts his body so that he’s sitting up over Dean’s knees and yanks the jeans down. Dean hisses at the slide of denim against his over-sensitized cock, then exhales a shallow breath that sounds suspiciously like ‘Cas’.

Cas’s response is to mouth wetly at the hard line of Dean’s cock through his boxers, saliva adding to the wet spot that has already collected there. He sucks at the precome-soaked fabric and Dean groans, his eyelids fluttering; a guttural sound that goes straight to Castiel’s cock. It’s not a conscious decision when Castiel’s thighs give out, hips dropping so that he finds himself suddenly rubbing against Dean’s leg. The sensation is enough to knock the breath out of him, his hips stuttering to chase the sensation.

Beneath him, Dean laughs. “Well hello there Cas,” he purrs, voice slightly shaky. Castiel glares wordlessly up at him, taking in the cocky smile that has settled back on the hunter’s face. Dean’s eyes glitter with humour, his mouth a sarcastic twist. Cas wants to wipe that expression off it, see his mouth fall open in pleasure, cut that laugh off with gasping.

And maybe the demon can see it too, because he smirks suddenly and then rolls his hips, the motion languid. Cas groans. Every slight movement brings the underside of his cock into contact with Dean’s skin, sparks of sensation like points of light behind his eyelids. “Dean,” he gasps out, and his hands dig bruisingly into the hunter’s hips, stopping the motion. The angel jerks Dean’s moist boxers down past the hunter’s ass.

“Yes, Cas?” his friend’s voice asks, innocent. Cas has no doubt that he is being mocked. He wishes he felt indignation but all he feels is the sensation of all breath being knocked out of him as he takes in the picture spread out before him.

Dean lays there looking utterly debauched. His still bloodstained shirt is pushed up past the bite marks along his stomach, fists still firmly clenched around the bedrail behind him. The heavy weight of the hunter’s hard cock curves up and slightly to the left, invitingly flushed. The hunter’s face is the very picture of relaxation, a complicated smile playing on his lips. It’s an angel’s wet dream, a perfect nightmare.

“Dean,” Castiel’s says again, voice reverent. In that moment all he wants to see is the hunter- the demon – _Dean_ unravel as much as Cas fears he himself already has.

“See something you like?” Dean asks with a chuckle.

Castiel sees no reason to lie. “Yes,” he responds in a solemn rasp, and leans forward to take Dean’s cock in his mouth. The hunter’s laugh fragments into incoherency.

*

Castiel has never done this before. But he knows what he’s doing in theory. If only, funnily enough, from being around Dean Winchester for so long. The same Dean Winchester whose head has lolled back and who is making little strangled noises in the back of his throat as the angel swirls his tongue hungrily around the head of the hunter’s cock.

“That’s it-“ Dean says, and Castiel, ignoring the warmth that suddenly suffuses his chest, bobs his head down farther, hollows his cheeks like he’s seen women do in the dozens of magazines Dean would tuck out of sight when he would notice Cas’s gaze. He’s working on instinct but the instinct seems correct when he increases his pace and Dean’s chest arches up as he gasps out Cas’s name.

The movement catches Cas off guard. Hands that were mapping the planes of Dean’s chest snap down to his hips but the grip is loose, not restraining. Dean presses the advantage, lifting his hips to chase the warm wetness of Cas’s mouth. “That’s it, babe,” he coaxes. His cock hits the back of Cas’s throat, and the angel feels himself gag. Dean doesn’t seem concerned, only backing off enough for Cas to get in a small breath before the head of his cock is hitting that same spot once more. In the back of Castiel’s mind a vicious little voice thinks _good_ , and he ignores the pain, letting Dean in as much as he can at this angle.

Out of the corner of his eye he can see Dean smile.

The angel’s hips move of their accord, maybe have been the whole time, rubbing himself against Dean’s leg as he lets the demon lazily fucks up into his mouth. It isn’t long before he finds himself moaning desperately around Dean’s cock.

The hunter lets out a startled laugh. “Oh man Cas,” he chokes out, stopping for a gasp of breath, punctuating his words with a thrust of his hips that deprives Castiel of air in turn, “Fuuck,” he says, his cock twitching against the inside of Cas’s cheek. “Your mouth was made for this, Cas. I always knew this is where you were meant to be. Look at you, prettiest angel in the garrison getting off choking on my cock.”

Cas isn’t quite listening, responds to Dean’s lack of motion by bobbing his head down on the hunter’s cock enthusiastically, sucking gently at the head as his right hand moves to cup the hunter’s balls. He’s rutting urgently against Dean’s leg, the torturous dragging pleasure cutting in only on the outskirts of his perception.

Dean smirks, tilts his head quizzically, “You gonna swallow it all, Cassie-boy? You going to get yourself off humping my leg like my own personal hellbitch?”

If Cas was paying attention, he might wonder at how close the sound he makes sounds like a sob, or at the wetness he feels running down his cheeks.

But instead his hips snap forward one last time and he’s coming in his pyjama pants. There’s a rushing sound in his ears as the world behind Castiel’s eyelids whites out. His body pitches forward in exhaustion, mouth going slack around Dean. The world goes still.

*

When the body beneath him moves, it might be his imagination that suggests that he’s rolled gently off to the side, his blanket pulled back on him.

“I guess that answers my questions, huh?” a fond voice breathes into his ear as the angel tries to will his limbs to move, his voice to make a sound.

He can just see the outline of a still-hard cock through the fabric of boxers, then jeans hastily pulled up by the demon on the other side of his bed, and then there is a brief pause.

“I’ll see you around, Cas,” the familiar voice says.

 

Dean’s laugh echoes in Castiel’s mind long after the smell of sulfur has faded.

**Author's Note:**

> I just... had a lot of feelings about the finale that I needed to get out. And then managed to draw out writing this thing for so long the new season had begun. Anyhow, hope you all enjoy! If you feel like it, check out my [tumblr](http://firstactloadedgun.tumblr.com/).


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